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	[u]Weather[/u]: Remains cold, just above freezing. Occasional light winds, picking up a little. 

	[u]Time[/u]: Late. 

	[u]Ambience[/u]: The fog is still thick, like puffy clouds clinging tightly to the earth. The large, one-phase-away-from-being-full moon diffused its light through with some effort. The town is in its last stages of closing down for the night, respectable and less respectable businesses, both, with lamps being extinguished except in the last of holdouts. The darkness is made more complete by the oppressive fog, preventing even darkvision from penetrating very far into the night. 
 
	[u]Outside of Town[/u]: Most campfires are low and dark, reduced to coals which might be revived the next morning for breakfast cookery. It is quiet out there, in the fields around the Township, with the vast majority of people down for the evening. A few are still awake in differing stages of drunken torpor. 
 

[center][hider=Neil & Bob's Public House][img]https://i.ibb.co/5vK80t3/N-B-ip.jpg[/img][/hider][/center]
	The Public House appears to be clearing out now. The exodus is helped in part this night by two of the most attractive and potentially disturbing women that this Township had witnessed thusfar. From both displays just inside of the front door, a possible broad opinion was that one of them was potentially demonic (and the other was a Tiefling). For better or for worse, the group will make the Avonshire rumormill come morning. But let's get to the details of the mess we're mired within.  

	Conversation is much easier to have now that people are clearing out. Tables are readily available, too. The bar area is now about halfway emptied, allowing for any number of social folks to amble up and take a seat; likewise the stage area is completely cleared. Perhaps this is why the whole place went silent when [i]the incident[/i] occurred. 

	The attention paid to the semi-conscious man by Marita was taken as a kindness, with the poor guy beginning to reach a hand up to take whatever assistance he might from the benevolent and kindhearted Cleric. The start of a relieved smile crossed his face as he came to realize that, despite his very recent scare and trauma, someone was going to look out for him, soggy pants and all. This idea was thoroughly trounced when Kosara took a couple of steps back, using it as room to pick up speed before a grape-bursting pain, as sharp and invasive as a glass pinecone suppository, exploded from his nethers. The Human sat bolt upright, cross-eyed, screaming at the top of his lungs in an octave that was better suited to a childrens' choir singing about kittens; halfway through it began to gargle, soon to spew a projectile of boozeish liquid and once-semi-foodish chunks, which itself was cut off in a dramatic and toothy manner just prior to collapsing back to the wooden planks of the bar's flooring just inside of the door. 

	Lea stood, shocked and unspeaking. Robert looked utterly pissed off. The latter said nothing about the assault upon the prone man, but did growl out, [color=darkgray]"[i]LAST CALL.[/i] Food's getting put up in five minutes. Booze is cut off in fifteen. Everyone out in a half hour who doesn't work here or have a bed."[/color] 

	As if on cue, Lawrence and Curly arrived back in the doorway to see a much less occupied establishment, an unconscious man with a damp crotch and a line of vomit leading back to him, partly clutching himself in his unconsciousness, a shocked bar staff, and a couple of unfamiliar faces. Also somehow beyond the capacity to verbally express a coherent thought, it was Maurice who piped up, [color=darkgray]"You missed all the fun, boys. C'mon, it's last call!"[/color] 

	[color=darkgray]"...good sprinkles..."[/color] finally mumbled Curly. The two of them stepped inside and returned to their table. Lawrence agreed. The two of them, like Maurice, were showing the effects of their evening celebrations.